Poem: “Spring in the North” by Henry Van Dyke

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American Literature – Children Books – American Poetry – Henry Van Dyke – Poems by Henry Van Dyke
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Spring in the North

I

Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days,Why the sweet Spring delays,And where she hides,—the dear desire Of every heart that longsFor bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby fireOf maple-buds along the misty hills,And that immortal call which fills The waiting wood with songs?The snow-drops came so long ago, It seemed that Spring was near! But then returned the snowWith biting winds, and earth grew sere, And sullen clouds drooped lowTo veil the sadness of a hope deferred:Then rain, rain, rain, incessant rain Beat on the window-pane,Through which I watched the solitary birdThat braved the tempest, buffeted and tossedWith rumpled feathers down the wind again. Oh, were the seeds all lostWhen winter laid the wild flowers in their tomb? I searched the woods in vainFor blue hepaticas, and trilliums white,And trailing arbutus, the Spring’s delight,Starring the withered leaves with rosy bloom. But every night the frostTo all my longing spoke a silent nay,And told me Spring was far away.Even the robins were too cold to sing,Except a broken and discouraged note,—Only the tuneful sparrow, on whose throatMusic has put her triple finger-print,Lifted his head and sang my heart a hint,—“Wait, wait, wait! oh, wait a while for Spring!”

II

But now, Carina, what divine amendsFor all delay! What sweetness treasured up, What wine of joy that blendsA hundred flavours in a single cup,Is poured into this perfect day!For look, sweet heart, here are the early flowers That lingered on their way,Thronging in haste to kiss the feet of May,Entangled with the bloom of later hours,—Anemones and cinque-foils, violets blueAnd white, and iris richly gleaming throughThe grasses of the meadow, and a blazeOf butter-cups and daisies in the field, Filling the air with praise,As if a chime of golden bells had pealed! The frozen songs within the breastOf silent birds that hid in leafless woods, Melt into rippling floods Of gladness unrepressed.Now oriole and bluebird, thrush and lark,Warbler and wren and vireo,Mingle their melody; the living sparkOf Love has touched the fuel of desire,And every heart leaps up in singing fire. It seems as if the landWere breathing deep beneath the sun’s caress, Trembling with tenderness, While all the woods expand,In shimmering clouds of rose and gold and green,To veil a joy too sacred to be seen.

III

Come, put your hand in mine,True love, long sought and found at last,And lead me deep into the Spring divine That makes amends for all the wintry past.For all the flowers and songs I feared to miss Arrive with you;And in the lingering pressure of your kiss My dreams come true;And in the promise of your generous eyes I read the mystic sign Of joy more perfect made Because so long delayed,And bliss enhanced by rapture of surprise.Ah, think not early love alone is strong;He loveth best whose heart has learned to wait:Dear messenger of Spring that tarried long,You’re doubly dear because you come so late.

< < < Indian Summer
Spring in the South > > >

American Literature – Children Books – American Poetry – Henry Van Dyke – Poems by Henry Van Dyke

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Spring in the North

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